


the fae came for me

by ElZacharie



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Abduction, Character Study, Childhood Trauma, Fae & Fairies, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 12:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13031424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElZacharie/pseuds/ElZacharie
Summary: Magnus Burnsides was told never to trust an elf.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [these strange creatures](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13026510) by [anonymousAlchemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousAlchemist/pseuds/anonymousAlchemist). 



> It's 3 AM, my joints hurt and my eyes sting, I'm hungry, and I wrote this on my phone. I'll post it everywhere else later.

Magnus was nine when the elves tried to take him.

He'd seen them milling around the neighborhood before, sometimes pulling along a child or two along with them, but usually chased away by the warning shot of magic or a pistol firing into the air. Sometimes, the adults didn't see them in time, and the children would disappear. Magnus hated those weeks the most; his mom would force him into a stuffy tux and drag him to the funeral pyre, where the missing children's parents or guardians would burn any trace of them while everyone sobbed. Dad was a guard and would always remind him about how to never trust an elf who claimed they wanted to show him something, to take him home.

“ _ Never let a knife ear take your hand, much less touch you, until you're a full grown man, Magnus, _ ” his father would warn, taking a swig from his mug. “ _ They'll take you into the woods and make you into a monster that no one can recognize, and keep you for a century.” _

At first, Magnus had nightmares of being taken by the elves. Mom would scold dad for putting the thoughts into his head, but dad would tell her it meant he was smart enough to fear the knife eats, holding him close to his chest to rock him back to sleep.

When the elves first came for Magnus, they first began when he was seven.

She was a wood elf, her skin a tawny brown and eyes twinkling with childish mischief. Magnus was walking home from school when she approached, laughing when he warned her that he knew her tricks.

“ _ I simply desire company, little bear, _ ” she said, taking care to remain a respectful distance from him to show she was telling the truth. “ _ Say the word, and you will never see me again. Now, what are they teaching you in those schools of yours?” _

Despite all his father's warnings, Magnus spoke to the elf every day after school for the next two years.

She taught him things his teachers neglected to mention, taught him words in the elven language. They were hard on his tongue at first, and she made him promise never to say them to anyone else who didn't have ears like hers.

Magnus didn't have many friends; he was a rough and tumble kid, too ready to put up his fists before thinking to extend the olive branch. He got into fights that had nothing to do with him, simply for the thrill, and often came home covered with bruises. But the elf didn't mind; sometimes, she even encouraged it.

“ _ My people, we are fighters,” she said. “We fight to continue to exist, to protect our children in our forests. Humans would rather burn us to the ground; I've lived through several assaults on the forest just outside of the village myself!” _

“ _ Can you blame them?”  _ said Magnus in all his sincere childhood naïvety. “ _ Dad says to never trust elves, that they take children and turn them into monsters.” _

The elf scoffed. “Humans have _  such poor eyes— they cannot tell the difference between a specter of death and an elf with their child, so they claim we steal them in the night! The fools; we have no need for their children.” _

“ _ But why has nobody ever seen an elf kid?” _

_ “Because we keep them safe inside our forests until they are strong enough to leave. Sometimes, however, we allow human children to visit for a day, to teach them of the world beyond. Who knows,” _ she adds, looking him over, “ _ maybe I'll let you meet them someday.” _

That excited Magnus immensely. He begged his elven friend to let him meet her children, that he had so much to teach them. She booped his nose— he'd long gotten over his fear of letting her touch him— and said, “ _ Alright, little bear. Pack your bags when your parents are asleep, but pack only what you need. Pack light, for the journey will be tiring, but we must never let go of each other, lest the forest swallow you, like it does other intruders. Understand? Good. Now, off you go. I will be waiting under your window when it is time.” _

Magnus ran home through the snow, grinning brightly. He kissed his mother hello when she greeted him at the kitchen and waved to his father as he walked past on his way to his shift for the night. He immediately poured out the contents of his school bag and stuffed inside a change of clothes and toys to bring to his new friends.

He could barely sit through dinner, explaining his excitement as looking forward to a field trip the next day, which wasn't wrong. He ran to his room soon after, telling his mother he would be sleeping early.

When the grandfather clock struck twelve, there came a rapping at his window. Magnus, already dressed in his warmest clothes, opened the window and grinned at his elven friend.

“ _ Hurry, little bear. The night will only grow colder, and the fire calls for us.” _

Magnus handed her his bag, then, with her assistance, climbed out the window. She took his hand and guided him towards the forest’s edge, their hearts beating in quick succession.

When the elves came for Magnus, they forgot the boy's father.

Just as they approached the threshold, the elf’s ears swiveled upward, straining to hear something that Magnus could not. She gasped and tried to dodge out of the way, but the arrow embedded itself between her ears before she could. The boy screamed, trying to rip himself away from her iron grasp that held on even in death and sent him face down into the snow.

“ _ Magnus!”  _ his father cried, running through the snow with a bow in hand to his son. “ _ Magnus, are you okay?!” _

_ “Daddy!”  _ he sobs.  _ “Daddy, she won't let go!” _

After that, there isn't much he remembers. The shouting of other guards and townspeople, drawn by the noise, trying to pry the dead elf’s fingers away.from his wrist. His father, finally impatient, grabbing an axe from someone and cutting it off by the wrist, then picking up his sobbing child and ordering the people to get them to a cleric or doctor as soon as possible.

His father stays with him throughout the days he's treated for hypothermia, watching the reflective flash of his child's eyes in the night, the way he seems to understand the elvish the doctors put in front of him, the way his ears point ever so slightly, unnoticeable if you weren't looking for it.

He blames himself for this. For not noticing sooner, though his wife reminds him there was nothing to notice; no one had ever seen the elf or Magnus ever near each other. (The fact does not comfort him; he should've kept an eye on him.)

While Magnus recovers, they destroy the forest. The wood is tainted with magic, so they take what they need to keep their homes warm and burn the rest. The trees scream, and so do the elves as they flee.

In his sleep, Magnus screams the loudest.

* * *

There are things about himself Magnus Burnsides cannot rationally explain.

First are the trees. He does not hate them, per se, but being near a forest makes him nervous. He grips his axe with white knuckles, trying not to focus on the foliage as he passes. He avoids them in his travels, feeling a knot in his stomach when forced to pass through.

Second are the elves. He wouldn't say he's racist towards them; getting to know them, he finds them to be just as good company as anyone else. But, sometimes, his heart begins beating faster, remembering the Elvish he knows, but not who taught him. The first night he spends with Taako, he puts his bag as far as possible and doesn't close his eyes until he's physically incapable of staying awake.

Lastly are his dreams. Dreams of a forest, ancient and grand, calling to him, calling him home. But, just as he approaches, it begins to scream. It begs him for mercy, to put out the fire, oh gods, when did it get set on fire, who did this, who did this to his home,  _ who took him away from what he was meant to be— _

No, there are things about himself he can't explain, not even to himself. Sometimes, he fears what the answer to them may be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For ruffboijuliaburnsides, who helped me move forward with the story last night and requested this.

In another world, another life, Magnus Burnsides is not saved from the forest’s call. In another world, Magnus Burnsides is a wood elf. 

The elf does not let go of his hand as they traverse the winding forest, shushing him softly when he begins to cry. Already, he can feel the tingle of magic in his bones, forcing his past life out of his mind. He forgets the way home a mile in. He forgets his mother's smile, his father's calloused hands, by the second mile.

When they reach the clearing, Magnus Burnsides no longer exists. They call him Morko’elle, little bear, in their strange tongue, now more familiar than common to his ears. They give him an axe, but tell him to never lift it against the forest, for the forest would shelter him and willingly give up wood for him to work.

Every night, trapped inside the hollow bark of an ancient tree, Morko’elle would curl up with his siblings and sob for a life he could no longer remember, cry away the pain of his limbs elongating with magic and his ears pointing upwards. Even as he grew older, more elven, the boy would find his way to the new children and cry with them.

Although it felt only like a few years, Morko’elle had remained in the forest for a hundred years. He clung to every memory of his past life, as faded they may be. In a moment of cleverness, the human boy Magnus had hidden a switchblade on his person, his grandfather's name (and, by extension, his own) carved into the hilt. As he made his way out the forest that had become his home, he whispered the name like a prayer, cementing his adult name to the world.

Magnus Burnsides may have been dead in body, but never in spirit.

—

“Magnus, huh?” says Taako, flopping into the seat next to him, watching the other elf whittle away at a duck. “Never met an elf with a human name.”

“I'm not an elf,” he declares automatically. 

“And I'm not the most gorgeous being on this ship,” Taako snarks, flicking Magnus’ ear and smiling wide when it twitches in response. “Lulu and I are taken when we were five.”

Magnus pauses, looking down at the creature in his hands. “Nine,” he whispers, willing the tears from his eyes. “Mom took me when I was nine.”

Fuck, he's crying. He hasn't thought of the elf in years, but she was the only image that came into his mind whenever he tried to think of his real mother. 

“Whoa, hey, it's okay, big guy. I'll whip you up something nice, and we can forget all about elf practice, alright?”

Magnus sniffs and smiles. “Elf practice?”

“Yeah! It's what me and Lup call it; makes it easier to swallow.”

Elf practice. Yeah, that did make it easier to swallow… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bibarrybluejeans.tumblr.com


End file.
